


Truth Doesn't Make A Noise

by decoyoctopus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Growing Up, Mutual Pining, Sadstuck, bro has some thoughts that might make some people uncomfortable though, i guess?, it's a little bit, like nothing happens while she's young, rose isn't underaged for the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decoyoctopus/pseuds/decoyoctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to wear pleated skirts. </p><p>Not only were they pleated, they were high-waisted.  The kind that ranged from knee to mid-thigh length, never longer or shorter. </p><p>The stereotypical schoolgirl kind.</p><p>According to you, that was a large part of the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Doesn't Make A Noise

**Author's Note:**

> it's all in bro's pov. brorose is my shameless otp but this is the first piece that i've written for them that i've actually finished. the others are all novel-length and self-indulgent AU's.
> 
> like the tags say, bro has some creepy thoughts early on but that's it. 
> 
> title is a song by the white stripes. it's pretty good.

She used to wear pleated skirts. 

Not only were they pleated, they were high-waisted. The kind that ranged from knee to mid-thigh length, never longer or shorter. 

The stereotypical schoolgirl kind.

According to you, that was a large part of the problem. 

Now, you were a man, but you had some common decency. You weren't about to blame your undeniable attraction to Rose Lalonde on the style or the length of her clothing, but you weren't about to deny the thoughts they always inevitably caused, either.

Young Rose hardly ever wore tights. Young Rose also had a tendency to hop up onto counters and sit on them instead of just sitting on chairs. She did this almost every meal. 

You knew you had a problem when you found yourself daydreaming about her legs. Dangling childishly from the edge of the counter while Dave made grilled cheese sandwiches for breakfast, looking milky pale and perfect... Damn it.

You were convinced it was the skirt-leg combination that broke you. If she would’ve just worn shorts like most teenagers, you would still be a perfectly sane man. A sane man who didn't sit through breakfast every morning of summer break trying to find different, creative ways to justify his unbearable need to slide his hands up a thirteen year old's skirt, who didn't chew the inside of his cheek until it bled when facing thoughts of kissing and nibbling his way up soft, potentially ticklish thighs. You swallowed thickly.

There was no avoiding this, either. Young Rose spent her summers in Houston. She needed a break from her life, you supposed, and you were just happy to see Dave have actual interactions on a daily basis. So every morning, for two months and a half, she was there. You eventually started skipping breakfast, but it didn't really ease your conscience. At least you weren't staring right at her anymore. 

Still, you think she knew what was going through your mind since day one. At least since day-where-she-got-old-enough-to-notice-your-staring. You knew there had to be something vaguely similar going through hers, because from one summer to another, not only did she go from sweet little girl to very attractive young lady, but her general attitude, around you at least, changed dramatically. Her smirks and comments spoke volumes about that, but overall, thirteen year old Rose had been pretty good at keeping to herself. 

Things shifted during the next summer. 

\--

On most nights where you had music gigs, you'd get home and you'd just want to have a few drinks. Seeing drunk people did that to you. Doing that while you worked was out of the question, it messed with your groove too much. Plus, you had to drive yourself home. So you packed up, dreading the walk upstairs before you even got to the car. The odds of Rose and Dave being awake were pretty much fifty-fifty, but you were polite, so you walked lightly, chuckling to yourself after a while. As if you weren't quiet enough already. You settled down on the couch, promising yourself you'd properly put away your equipment the next morning but knowing you were most likely not going to. You didn't even feel like watching TV, sitting in the dark with the quiet was nice. You took off your hat, untying your belt and throwing it to the floor before deciding to get up and change. Plaid pyjamas were the dadliest, most ironic item of clothing you could possibly put on to unwind, so you did, ignoring how comfortable you actually found them. You folded your shades, leaving them on the bathroom sink and throwing your dirty shirt in the hamper. Your next stop was the kitchen, where you got yourself a coffee mug, making a mental note to remind Dave to do the dishes because napkins and mugs really weren't appropriate for every meal. 

“If we were to be put together, we'd make a complete outfit.” Your head snapped up and you considered trying to hide yourself with the fridge and freezer door, but decided against it. That would be pathetic. Fourteen year old Rose was leaning against the door frame of the kitchen, wearing Dave's shirt. He had been getting ridiculous growth spurs lately, so it seemed big on her small frame. It was long enough to hide what it had to, but still clung to her chest and hips, which Dave didn't have. You took a sip of your drink, crunching on an ice cube and making outrageous efforts to maintain eye contact. What an idea it was to take your shades off before going to bed. You mentally patted yourself on the back for that. You were tired. You thought you were alone. You weren't prepared to be your usual stoic self, and it was too late to fix how low you had let your guard go, because she was already there and you hadn't even heard her coming.

“Not in bed?” You asked, closing both doors and leaning against the counter. There was an acceptable distance between the two of you. A few meters. Maybe you could get through this just fine, after all. 

Rose shrugged. “I've been restless for a few days now. I wasn't sure if you were here or if I was just hearing things.” She took a few steps forward and sat on the counter, causing the shirt to ride up a bit. It all seemed so calculated, everything she did. You could see the edge of her underwear. Barely. But it was there. A little black line. 

You knew she saw you looking, noticed you noticing. 

“Finished up early. Wednesday nights aren't usually packed.” 

“Restlessness is usually a result of anxiety, which is strange because I don't really have a reason to be anxious. I just need to relax more.” 

“Excited for anything?”

She shakes her head. “I've never seen you stressed or nervous, Bro.” You crunched down on an ice cube. You could never get used to the way she said your name. “Any tips?”

“I try not to think about stuff too much.” 

Rose is quiet for a while. There's only the humming of the air conditioning and your occasional crunching. You clenched your jaw as she hopped off of the counter, coming to stand in front of you with that incredibly self-satisfied smile of hers. 

“You know, with your sunglasses on, I second-guessed myself a lot, but there's no need for that anymore...” She took one more step forward, nearly pressing herself to you. “I'm in dire need of release, if you were to finally go forward with those impulses of yours, the odds are I wouldn't be much against it.”

“I'm not sure what you're talking about.” 

“I'm talking about the reason you never show up for breakfast anymore.” Rose chuckled, one of her hands coming to rest on your chest. She winked. “Interesting fact: I think there is a very clear ratio between how far away from you I am and how much you want me... Your pupils were much more dilated when I was over there. Though perhaps the element of surprise adds to that... I'll look into it.” 

“Rose.” You warned in between your teeth.

“Dave is sound asleep. I can keep quiet, I promise.” 

“You've always been too cocky for your own good.” 

She chuckled, you felt oddly mocked. 

“You're fourteen.” You hissed.

Rose looked up to you curiously. “That is true, yes.” 

“Come back when you're legal, maybe we'll talk.” You muttered, leaving your cup behind and walking away, rushing off to your room as soon as you were out of her sight. 

\--

The next summer, Rose wasn't there. 

The next summer was the most boring summer of your entire life. Rose had started spending her breaks here when she was nine, and before that, Dave was young enough that all he wanted to do during summer break was to spend time with you. He wasn't exactly at that point of his life anymore. 

You hadn't asked why she wasn't coming, but you couldn't deny your curiosity on the matter. Your ego wasn't letting you ask about it, however. You were sitting in your computer chair, idly updating your servers when Dave crashed on the futon besides you.

“Bro.” He said, grabbing a can of soda from your couch stash. 

“Little Bro.” You chuckled, still clicking around. 

“I'm sick of your moping.”

You stopped, turning around to face him and quirking an eyebrow. “My moping? This shit is boring as hell but I'm pretty sure I ain't moping about it.”

“Rose is in Europe, Bro. She didn't just stay home, she's in Europe.”

“Alright.” You shrugged. “She's got family there.”

“She's not visiting family, she's with her girlfriend. That's why she's not here. She's with her girlfriend. It's nothing we did.”

“Well, thank you for the unnecessary reassurance, Davey.”

He got up and rested his hands on your shoulders. “I slept with her.” 

“Congratulations.”

“I'm pretty sure that you--”

“No.”

“Sle--”

“No.”

“Well you sure as dicks thoug--”

“No.”

“You definitely thought about it!”

You shook your head, smirking. Dave had a tendency to deflect things onto you when he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. 

“And now, she's in fucking Europe to visit her girlfriend Bro! A girl! She's what, she's gone full lesbian now?” He was shaking your shoulders. 

“Fifteen is the age of experimentation, Dave.”

“You don't go to Europe to experiment!” He snapped, falling back down against the couch. “Bro, what if I was so, so bad that I turned her gay!? I mean, I can't be pathetic enough in bed to make her want nothing to do with men forever, right? I've got much more experience now, seriously. Do you think she'd re-consider? Like, yo rose, don't give up on this thing yet, I've got some sick new moves you need to see.” 

“I don't think you should do that, no. Makes you sound a bit homophobic.”

“I'm not homophobic. It's just wasted girl if Rose is gay.”

“Yo. You just can't say shit like that, little guy.” 

He ran his hands through his hair. “Oh this is all my fault... Europe is so dangerous...” 

“Quit whining.” 

“I know I'm good!” 

“I'm putting headphones on now.”

“Bro please no I really need advice-”

You drowned out what he was saying after that. Europe. That was quite a few miles away from Houston. Was she in one of the big cities? London? Paris? Berlin? Maybe she was in an obscure corner of Italy. You imagined her as a tourist very well. Eiffel tower, gondolas, pastry shops...

As much as you tried to picture her visiting Europe's most famous landmarks, you always ended up thinking about her standing in your kitchen, her voice resonating through your head. Her underwear. The way her shirt clung to her chest. Her shirt.

Dave's shirt.

Your eyes grew wide behind your shades. Had that happened immediately after they... Probably not, right? Rose wouldn't... Sleep with Dave and immediately show up in the kitchen to tell you how restless she was... Or maybe sleeping with Dave was also a response to that feeling... You sighed. It was useless thinking about this, because you would never get any answers out of it. 

You couldn't help but wonder, though.

\--

Sixteen year old Rose made her usual appearance. Dave could drive by then, so he picked her up at the airport by himself. He was excited enough that he couldn't even hide it any more. The two of you had played video games all of the previous night and he just couldn't sit still. It amused you. You were doing dishes when she came in, mid-sentence.

“...It was only once I was over there that I realized how much I wanted to be here. Texas feels like my summer home, I suppose, and while seeing the sights was fantastic, I couldn't help but long for the impossible weather only Houston can provide.”

Dave chuckled. “Not only do you get great company and fantastic weather, you get driving lessons. Your parking manoeuvres were pathetic, Lalonde.” 

You smirked at what you assume is the sound of her slapping his chest. You wonder about them again. What happened of the girlfriend situation? Where do they stand now? Are they a couple? You sigh, turning back to the dishes. They were out of your field of vision, and you liked it that way. If you could spend the entire summer without once setting eyes on Rose Lalonde you would be incredibly happy, but you knew from the start you wouldn't be so lucky. The second they were in Dave's room to drop her things off, you were out the door. 

You successfully avoided her for all of two days, which made you feel like an absolute failure. You wanted to deny it, but you knew yourself all too well. You didn't want to avoid her all that much. You merely wanted it to look like you were attempting to avoid her, that was it. 

You offered her a cup of coffee, both of you being early risers compared to Dave. She took it, giving you a smile that seemed almost apologetic. It tugged at your heart strings a bit. Maybe she was embarrassed by what fourteen year old Rose had done and said. You didn't bring it up, you just stood together in silence. 

Rose seemed doomed to be short, but she was a few inches taller than the last time you saw her. Her mother was incredibly tall for a woman, but other than her blonde hair and purple eyes, not much seemed to have gone over to her daughter. She grew into her curves nicely. There were no more childish lines on her face. She was more a young lady than a girl, now. She was a thing of beauty, really. If it was today that she pressed herself to your chest and told you to go forward with your impulses, it might be harder to walk away. You couldn't decide. 

She thanked you for the coffee and left for Dave's room. You wanted her to talk more. You missed the way she said your name. 

You were mad at how easily you became infatuated with her. 

You joined each other for coffee every morning in silence. It was a good part of your day. Most of the time she would still be in her pyjamas, her hair messy and her face bare. Some mornings she would rush out of the door as soon as you were both done, and on those mornings she was always ready well before she met you in the kitchen. You liked her both ways. 

Mid-July you decided to get up earlier than usual to get ready as well. You were good at noticing patterns, and Rose was usually gone from the apartment on Thursdays. You took out two travel mugs and waited for her. She looked at you curiously.

“I'll drive you.” You offered. She practically occupied your every thought. You had been constantly trying to find ways to spend more time with her but couldn't come up with anything until now. It wasn't like you could ask her to diner and a movie.

She smiled and took the mug, following you out the door. She didn't do anything special, really. You were assuming she was meeting someone, but she wasn't. She just wandered on her own, trading in books for other ones, looking at various antiques and oddities. Rose had always intrigued you. You never thought of her as someone who would have such an interest in old odds and ends. 

Your hands brushed against each other a number of times and you weren't sure if it was an accident or an invitation, but you tried not to think of it too much. There was already far too many unspoken words between the two of you to throw hand holding into the mix. 

Rose picked up a dresser and a coffee table. She seemed happy to have a vehicle to put them in, because by the way the shopkeeper was talking, she had been eyeing them for quite some time now. You asked how she planned to send them back to New-York and she shrugged. She didn't seem to be concerned with that right now. When the two of you went back home, you took the elevator and brought her various things to the attic. You took a quick nap once you were back in the apartment and left for your nightly gig. 

You're pretty sure she waited for you to come home. 

She was sitting in the kitchen, idly typing away at her laptop. It was almost four in the morning. She looked extremely tired. If she hadn't been waiting for you, then surely she had the idea of a lifetime, because no one wants to be typing for that long. 

You showered, changed, brushed your teeth... You kept your sunglasses on, this time, and went straight to the fridge. 

You took a swig of orange juice, waiting until you heard her close her computer and stand up. 

“Bro?”

You turned to face her. God, she looked so tired. You wanted her to say it again. And again. Hearing her say your name felt like such a guilty pleasure. 

“Yeah?”

“Did you miss me?” 

You had. Two years without laying eyes on her, you had missed her more than you could ever admit. You had missed her voice, her sense of humour, and her laugh, and the way she blew her hair out of her face when the heat bothered her. You had missed her knowing smiles and fluttering eyelashes, her legs dangling from your counter every morning... You shrugged.

“Not particularly.” You took another drink, honestly surprised that the juice wasn't spoiled. “Why?”

This almost seemed to hurt her, but it was hard to tell. “Because I did.” 

Rose got on the tip of her toes and softly pressed her lips to yours. You heart sank to your stomach. She pulled away after a few seconds, presumably because she determined you weren't going to kiss back and looked down and away from you as she stepped out of the kitchen. You traced out your lips with your fingers, your other hand reaching out for an arm that was no long there.

She stopped showing up for coffee. 

\--

Seventeen year old Rose let everyone who would listen to her passive-aggressive rants know just how much she disapproved of the women you brought back home. 

It was jealousy, that much was obvious. Jealous of them and mad at you. You weren't sure what you were supposed to do in such a situation until you found her crying on the roof with a bottle of booze one night. 

You sat down next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “What's up?”

She wiped her tears quickly, blinking them away as best as she could. Even as a child she had been like this. Rose didn't like to be seen during moments of weakness. 

“It's just...” She sobbed. “It's this stupid thing I... I went on a date with a guy I started talking to in a bookstore and it was terrible... I shouldn't be crying over this it's... I realize it's silly, Bro... I just had my hopes up, it seems... And I'm so unlucky when it comes to relationships...”

You shushed her. “It was that bad?”

Rose nodded. You got a bit closer to her, letting her rest her head on your shoulder until she calmed down. It seemed out of character for her to cry over a boy. 

The thought vaguely occurred that maybe she was crying over you.

\--

Eighteen year old Rose's stay was short. You were on edge the whole time, wondering if she would say something, but there were no mentions of you telling her to come back when she was legal. There was nothing much between the two of you, really. Not even tension. You just avoided each other. Your interactions were cold and short. Dave helps her move her antiques out of the attic. You chuckle to yourself, two years is a long enough time to figure out shipping arrangements, you suppose. 

She only mentioned it as you drove her to the airport. 

"I'm eighteen now." 

"Yeah."

"Would you kiss me back this time?" 

You shrugged, smirking. "I dunno. Try me." 

She sighed and turned to face the window. Maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say, how were you supposed to know. Rose had always been playful, flirty and strongly oriented towards mocking mostly everyone, but you supposed this wasn't what she was looking for during this type of conversation.

\--

Like the hip child that he is, Dave decides to study abroad. You Skype with him on his nineteenth birthday, trying not to sound like a sappy, lonely old man. You tell him you miss him and that you're excited for Christmas, and that's it. That's sappy enough for you. 

You never ask about Rose, no matter how much you want to. You don't even know if she's studying, or where. You know she just published her first novel, because you read about it online, but that's it. Whatever she's doing, you're happy for her. Genuinely. You can't stop thinking about her once you hang up with Dave. You think about how much she's changed, from nine to eighteen. From thirteen to fourteen. From fourteen to sixteen. You think about Dave wondering if he turned her gay and you can't stop laughing. You think about the way she looked when she told you she had missed you and things aren't funny anymore. 

You think about holding her, a lot. The closest you ever came to that was when she cried on your shoulder. You wanted to hold her so terribly. To rock her and kiss her hair and promise her you wouldn't bring anyone else home with you, every hiccup and every sob driving you closer to promising you'd give her the world or something equally ridiculous that you didn't entirely mean. 

You wanted her. There was no psychological bullshit behind the fact that you were just attracted to every single thing about her. That Rose Lalonde was your kind of woman. You turned the TV on to change your thoughts around and passed out almost immediately. You'd have to set up a Christmas tree, soon. 

\--

All in all, you're not sure why you were surprised when, the next night, there's a knock on the door. You groaned. There was a newly wed couple from god knows where moving in the apartment in front of yours and they had been a nightmare so far. How many screw drivers do you have to ask for before you understand that the guy in front isn't going to lend you the god damn screw driver?

You open the door, greeted immediately by the familiar sight that was Rose Lalonde.

“I waited a whole extra year, just to be sure.” She sounds confident, but her eyes avoid yours. You chuckle, motioning for her to come in.

“Happy Birthday.” 

“Did you buy me a present?”She looks around, you aren't exactly sure for what. You doubt she's looking for a box with her name on it. Looking for signs of someone else living here, maybe. You close the door. 

You meet a tight embrace the second you turn around, and you can't hide your surprise. Even she doesn't seem entirely comfortable with the gesture, but eventually her shoulders relax and it feels more like a hug. You tentatively rest your hands on the small of her back. 

“What's this for?” You speak softly, a bit muffled by her hair. 

“Well, I'm assuming you didn't get me anything. So I'm taking a little something.” 

You breathe her in. You hold her close. You tell yourself you deserve this. Affection. 

“Rose?” You whisper after a short while.

“Yes?”

You chew on your lip a bit before talking. “Would you... Like to dance?” 

“What?”

“We could dance.” 

“Why would we do such a thing?”

“I'd like to dance with you, I think.”

“You think?”

“I know.” 

“I suppose we could, yes.”

You take a few steps towards your sound system, thinking that maybe it was the fact that you had been listening to a lot of sultry jazz lately that made you want to waltz. 

You turned back to Rose, who held out her hand. You chuckled, pulling her towards you gently. Her arms wrapped around your neck, your hands rested on her hips, lightly. You moved for a moment before resting your head atop of hers.

“When you were younger, you were cute as a button. Everyone would say so when I walked around with you and Dave.” You whispered into her hair, softly. “Your mother showed me how to tie a bow in your hair because you used to refuse to leave the house without it.” 

She nods against your chest. “I remember that, yes.” 

“Then you got a bit older, and you didn't want anything to do with bows. You wore headbands. Eventually you just grew out of hair accessories. You switched from that to lipstick.”

“That's right.”

“I found it strange at first. But it suits you.”

It's quiet for a moment.

“Bro, what's this?”

You shrug. “I've known you your whole life.” 

“And yet, this is the most I've heard you say consecutively.” 

“I doubt that. I used to read you bedtime stories.”

“Why is it suddenly important, how long you've known me? Is it a birthday thing? Are you feeling old, Bro?”

“Partially.” You chuckle. You bring your hand to her chin, making her look at you. “But mostly it's because I'm not sure if that particular fact makes it very wrong or very right to have you here right now.” 

“What does it change?”

“Not much.” 

She hums. 

“Rose?” 

“Bro.”

“I would've kissed you.”

“You should've said so.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn't move. Neither do you. You just keep dancing. You keep looking at her. One of her hands moves up to push your hat off of your head. You're still considerably taller than her, which makes you smile a bit. You take care of your sunglasses, tossing them on the couch. Rose looks up to you fondly. 

“It's been a long time since I've seen you like this.”

“It has.” 

“I like you better without your costume on.” 

You nod, running your thumb on the skin beneath her eye softly. Indulgence. This is all it is. There is no guiltier pleasure than Rose. You don't think much when you break the distance between the two of you. All you think of is sixteen year old Rose pulling away from you after you did everything in your power not to kiss her back. Now, you want to kiss back. You don't care about lipstick smears or schematics. You care about her. Her lips softly moving with yours, your hand sliding up into her hair, your breath hitching in your throat in a completely uncontrolled way. 

You pull away, and for a long moment, all you do is look at each other. You're not sure what to do from there, but Rose seems to have a pretty good idea. She slides her fingers in between yours, bringing your hand up and dragging you along with her. She sits you down on the futon and straddles your hips, tucking a longer strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead. You're not sure if anyone's ever kissed your forehead before.

“Bro.” She whispers. “You've done this before.”

She's right. You get back into the feel of things, sliding your hands up her sides. 

“I have.” You answer. “But it wasn't like this.”

Rose mocks you. “Aw, because this is special, isn't it?”

You kiss her, unable to stop yourself from getting a bit aggressive. “Don't act like it ain't, Lalonde.” 

“You're not my first time.”

“That's got nothin' to do with this.” You help her out of her shirt. “It wouldn't be right if I was.” 

“Oh no?” She says, curiously. “You're all about symbols, aren't you?” 

You're not sure what she's talking about. There's not a doubt in your mind that she will elaborate on that thought, any minute now. 

“Something about being my first would be too intimate for you.” She's undoing your belt. “You see yourself as something dirty and wrong.” 

“I am.” 

She shakes her head, smirking. It drives you mad, the way she does that. You shove her to the side, pining her arms over her head and kissing your way down her neck, along her shoulders...

“Because you helped raise me and now you're very aggressively taking off my clothes?” She chuckles, looking at you with... Fondness on her face. 

“Not the time to pick me apart.” You wiggle out of your pants, Rose taking care of your shirt as you do so. “Plenty of time for us to chat about how I'm all kinds of fucked up after this is over.” 

You press her to you, breathing out shakily at the feeling of her skin. Cool and soft against yours. “Jesus Christ, Lalonde...” You croak out, swallowing thickly. 

You kiss again, the rest of your clothing finding the floor rapidly enough. You can't contain yourself. Your heart pounds in your chest, warmth tingles in the pit of your stomach, every touch from her cold hands makes your breath hitch... 

She takes your hand, spreading her legs a bit and guiding you to her. You curse against her neck, fingers slipping into her easily. 

“Don't look like you'll be needing much prep.”

“It doesn't.” 

You're not sure if she's correcting you or agreeing. You pull your hand away, wiping your fingers against the futon sloppily and cupping her face. She interrupts you before you even open your mouth.

“Bro Strider, you better not fucking ask me if I'm sure about this.”

You smirk, kissing her roughly and nodding. She's right. You reach underneath the couch, fingers brushing against multiple things before you find what you're actually looking for. You sit up, tearing the package with your teeth. “Ride me.” You mutter, sliding the condom down your shaft. “Wanna look at you.” 

She straddles your hips, her mouth resting on your neck for a few seconds before one of her hands moves down to line herself up onto you. She looks at you underneath her lashes as she sinks down and it takes every ounce of self-control not to just throw your head back. 

She's whimpering by the time she's got you all in and you try to be reassuring, because you're not entirely sure how many people she's been with. “Good?” You huff, and she nods.

You roll your hips up, gently, and she moves against you, and it's... Good. You have to keep reminding yourself that you do know how to do this, because all you can think about is Rose. How she feels, how she sounds, how she looks at you... You expected her to be quiet. She's everything but. She's all whines and moans and curses and you love it. She rocks her hips and bit quicker and you take it as a hint to step up the pace, which she seems to appreciate. Rose rests her head against your chest, her hands falling limp at your side.

“B-Bro...” She breathes out. “Can I?” 

“Can you what?” You have a pretty good idea of what she's going to ask, but you've never had her this vulnerable. 

“Can I make myself come?” 

You groan, nodding. She sighs in relief, her hand sliding in between her legs. The back of it rests against your pelvis and you can feel her fingers moving. You can feel your own orgasm coming on, so you thrust faster, trying to match the frantic rolling of Rose's fingers. She cries out, clenching around you in release and you don't think you've ever heard a noise like that before. It resonates into your ears until you pull out, tissues from your side table making cleanup quick and easy. You hold her, bringing your comforter over the both of you. You've rarely done this.

Rose falls asleep. You stay there. More indulgence. 

\--

She stays. She knits next to you while you update your website, she cleans out the kitchen and makes it useable, she buys groceries, you learn that she's a good cook. She curls up next to you at night. She kisses your cheek when she leaves. Neither of you ask too many questions. Dave does.

“Dave says hi.” You call out over your shoulder, to the kitchen where Rose is typing away at her computer. She has headphones in, if she hears, she doesn't answer anything.

“So, you live together now?”

“Seems so.” 

“That doesn't freak you out?”

You shrug. “We always got along. It's nice not to be alone.”

“But... There's other stuff, right? It's you and Rose, the two people who never do anything without ulterior motive.”

“I guess.”

“What's the motive, Bro?”

You sigh. You can't say. You know, but you can't make the words leave your head.

“Bro?”

“It's...” You take your hat off, smoothing your hair out and putting it back on. “It's getting what we want, I guess.” 

He hangs up and calls again. 

“So, she's like... You're together? Together together?”

“I don't know.” 

He hangs up. You go back to work when the Skype notification goes back on. You roll your eyes. 

“Is Davey having a crisis?” Rose asks. 

You nod, clicking to answer. Rose is standing next to you in a few seconds.

“Dave.” She starts. “Dave, honey, mommy and daddy still love you very much--”

Dave swears and closes the call, going offline immediately. You pull Rose down to you, planting a kiss on her nose. 

“Definitely my kind of woman.”

“I know.” She smiles. 

\--

**Author's Note:**

> ~*u*~


End file.
